Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Sc. We'll try whether he'll get loose again. She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. I’m sorry. “Vee,” she said, “come home.
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